


Now See This

by lzclotho



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Masturbation, Unresolved Sexual Tension, caught masturbating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-02 10:52:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lzclotho/pseuds/lzclotho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There be SwanQueen ahead in these waters… in this story, just a bit of unresolved sexual tension as Regina Mills gets a full long look at a sweating Emma Swan. Now added a chapter 2, as Regina tries to relieve her needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Emma Swan was frustrated. When she was frustrated to this level she needed to move. She’d gotten over her absolute flight response with more than a year in Storybrooke and that crazy journey to the Enchanted Forest, but sometimes a good jog could clear the head, y’know? Right now between dodging the daggers being glared between Snow and Regina because the former evil queen had made no bones about her disgust that Snow had let Henry out of her sight, and watching her father glare at the suggestively waggling eyebrows of their host, the pirate Captain Killian Jones, Emma really needed the fuck to evacuate.

But running around on a boat — a pirate ship, no less — was kind of useless. For one thing the lack of room, that whole long run off a short plank, or whatever. She headed down to the hold only to find no bags or barrels of supplies to push or throw around to work off her energy.

Hands on her hips, she leaned her head back, closing her eyes, counting to ten. It wasn’t some zen thing, just a way to think. When she opened her eyes, however, a solution to her dilemma seemed to have magically appeared.

The infrastructure of a ship had never been something Emma Swan learned anything about, but that — right there —was a beam with some nice head space above it. She stepped forward, rolled her shoulders and reached up, pulling to test the beam’s strength. It felt pretty sturdy. Her eyes darted along its length to where each end disappeared into the walls.

Experimentally she pulled herself off the ground with one arm, bending her knees and cautiously lifting her feet. She gave a quick bounce. The beam didn’t flex in her hand and there was no ominous creaking suggesting an imminent break. She released herself with a thump of her boots back to the deck.

She threw off her pea coat and took herself down to her tank top, eager to work up a sweat.

* * *

 

Emma was just getting into a nice rhythm, triceps beginning to feel the burn, when she heard boots. Resolving to ignore whoever it was, she continued to flex and pull. If her grunts were a little louder, it was with the hope whoever it was would take the hint and leave her alone.

"What are you doing?" No such luck. Her watcher was Killian. The pirate captain sounded amused.

"Getting ready for a fight," she growled. She hoped he’d take the hint and go away. She had already punched his lights out once. And held a sword at his throat, and manacled him to a giant’s gilded chair. She’d do it again.

No response came back, and after another few repetitions of her actions — the only way she was measuring time — she heard the boots moving away.

Emma exhaled and closed her eyes, continuing rhythmically to pull her chest up to, and chin over, the beam. She was sweating freely now, grit gathering under her neck, and the salty liquid sliding in unending rivulets down her forehead, cheeks, arms, and between her breasts. 

The sound of boots returned. Emma grunted; _damn, the man couldn’t take a hint!_   She wrestled her head above the beam, feeling her straining muscles shaking her entire frame now.

Regina Mills had finally stalked away from Snow and her Charming, seeking a refuge where she could be alone with her utter sense of failure. She still blamed Snow and her hapless prince for losing Henry. If they’d been half as attentive to their grandson as they had professed, Greg and Tamara should never have been able to get him. But she had plenty of blame herself, and she had been learning to accept some of it thanks to her sessions with Archie.

She stopped walking at the sight in the dim corner of a room off the lower deck corridor. The sweat-soaked blond figure seemed to be wrestling with a beam in the ceiling. The muscles in the woman’s arms were in sharp relief as she flexed them through the motions of lifting her body repeatedly off the floor. Regina was no stranger to exercise, but was more accustomed to it being performed in a setting specially built for such a thing. This approach seemed crude.

_On the other hand, we are talking about Miss Swan, aren’t we?_   Regina’s curiosity piqued and passed by her own explanation, she started to turn on her heel and walk away in the direction she had come.

"Damn it, leave me the fuck alone!"

Regina spun back at the vitriolic outburst, ready to argue, as it always seemed with this woman.

She watched Emma’s hand slip. The blonde’s lean hard-muscled body slammed to the planks of the ship’s deck with the resounding and wet slap of skin against wood. The vibrations shook the deck under Regina’s feet, momentarily disrupting her awareness of the ship’s gentle rocking.

Emma Swan’s hands turned into fists and slammed twice into the deck, making Regina jump even as she saw the actions coming with the raising and lowering of Emma’s sweat-streaked arms. Fingers went toward Emma’s hair, presumably to pull the wet strands from her cheeks. Only, instead, those hands were suddenly fists against Emma’s face.

Regina froze in place watching, aware of her discomfort but unable to retreat, as Emma Swan went under the tide of some emotional onslaught. Regina had an inkling what might be causing it, but that was a new sensation to her, a woman who had spent two lifetimes more worried about her own emotions than those of others.

She knew she shouldn’t be there should Emma Swan turn around. The woman should be allowed her pain in private. Regina knew she would want that — no, she would demand that — if their positions were reversed.

But she found she couldn’t move. She did flinch when Emma spun, hands splayed, pushing the blond woman to her knees then her feet in rapid succession.

Then it was like Emma ran into a wall. The blond gasped; green eyes, already reddened and overflowing with tears, widened and snapped over Regina’s appearance head to toe and back to head again.

"Regina?" Emma’s voice was high and strained. The muscles in the woman’s shoulders bunched and rolled, the actions of a restrained fighter, or prisoner, she realized.

Regina’s gloved hands flexed in her pea coat pockets, but she was certain she didn’t want to bring her magic to bear. She still had the sense memory of Emma’s magic twining with her own in the caverns under Storybrooke. The Savior’s magic might be untrained, but it was pure and powerful. 

Silence filled the space between the two women, crowding them more effectively than a million bodies. Both their distance, and their proximity, were noted, acknowledged tightly, and abandoned without comment.

Regina licked her lower lip cautiously. Her gaze traced a trickle of sweat that slipped from Emma’s cheek to her heaving chest and then down until it vanished under the edge of her tank top covering swells tipped with hard points visible in relief through the ribbed fabric.

At the sight, Regina felt her mouth go dry. Then she did something she had never done before in her life: she retreated.

###

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crawling out of her skin with anxiety and nerves -- not to mention the image of sweating Emma Swan that will NOT go away -- Regina retreats to be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a conversation with a reader, I give you Emma walks in on Regina masturbating.

 

Regina retreated, face hot, mouth dry. She stumbled for the ladder leading abovedeck. Heart pounding, she froze with her fist around a rung at the sound of laughter. It was Snow, the absolute last person Regina wanted to see.

The clashing emotions boiled inside her belly and she closed her hand into a fist over the sensation. _Damn this boat. Too small. Too close. Too slow_. The racing of her heart made her lightheaded.

_Lie down_ , her body demanded. Uncurling her fist from the wood ladder, Regina turned and spied a door ajar. Pushing inward she discovered an empty bunk room, two of the threadbare pallets mounted in stacks on each side wall. Regina took in the whole of the space within one breath.

A porthole split the wall on the far side. It opened though not easily, and she inhaled the cool air blowing against her face and her nose filled with the scent of sea brine. She gulped deeply and gradually cleared most of her head. Her heart rate slowed back to something akin to normal. Finally she stepped away up and settled back onto the low bunk of a pair.

Bracing her hands to either side of her hips, Regina sat on the bunk’s edge, feeling the bite of the wood into her palms as they tingled. A glance down revealed magic breaking in fitful swirls around her fingers. The frame of the bunk began to warp.

Cursing Tamara and Greg under her breath, Regina snatched her hands up and rubbed them together. Magic was emotion, which made the converse also true: the more emotion one had, the easier it was to access magic. If she didn’t get herself under control soon, the results could be... explosive. She winced. That is, of course, assuming the infernal magic-sucking machine hadn’t wrecked Regina’s magic entirely.

Attempting to center herself and rein in her emotions, Regina pulled off her boots, shucked her heavy coat, and laid back on the bunk, curling her arms and head around her balled up coat like a pillow.

Her thighs shifted together as she worked to get comfortable, which awakened her to another problem. She was swollen and sensitive at her core. Gasping in surprise, Regina reached down to adjust herself, only to instead disrobe, sliding off her pants. The cool air from the open porthole brushed against her legs and instantly much tension fled her body. She exhaled and her hands returned to cradle her coat to her cheeks, the soft wool cool against her hot skin.

The moment she closed her eyes, however, the itch returned. She put a protective hand on her belly in an attempt to quell the quivering nerves. Her body whimpered, begged her to move her hand lower. It wasn’t subtle, nor ashamed, her hips moving toward her hand with intent. _Relief_ , her body demanded.

She glared at the porthole as if the ocean could be blamed for her plight. A thump on the other side of the far wall, boots hitting the deck, drew her gaze there, and she knew -- she acknowledged -- from where her itch truly sprung.

Closing her eyes, Regina fought to exhale and inhale only through her nose, to drive the images of Emma Swan’s workout from her mind. But the sight and scent had been indelibly printed.

Sweat-soaked skin -- nostrils flaring again she could _smell_ the salt-sweet scent -- glistening, small droplets chasing one another over taut tendons, soft curves, ridges of delicate bone. Her tongue darted out over her lips, tasting the salts beginning to appear.

Beneath her fingers circling closer and closer, Regina’s center warmed to the fantasy even as her mind fought to remain detached. Her hips surged, her fingertips slipped beneath the waistband of her panties.

When she first brushed her own tightly trimmed curls, her thoughts were not of her own grooming habits, but a sudden burst of dangerous curiosity about Emma Swan’s.

With each growing gasp from the sensations, Regina wondered. Did the blonde trim? Or was she as wild and untamed there as she was in her outward life? Was she sensitive to the same touches Regina enjoyed, or did she prefer different strokes? Would the blonde taste more sweet or salty upon Regina’s tongue?

She moaned at that thought, licking her lips again in abject wanting, to know. Her fingers slipped gingerly around her own clit. Her head fell back and her neck and back arched, with the conflicting strains of wanting to hold off, and yet rush forward, too, headlong into fulfillment.

Her arm movement became erratic and she rolled onto her back, planting her feet apart to drive her hips upward more rhythmically as the demand to peak began to scream in her veins, throbbing in her head.

She panted; she groaned. Her fingers slid hard against her clit and her orgasm explosively overcame her. Shivering, she threw an arm over her face and stifled her cries, even as she made her fingers continue to push her to another release.

At last, she blinked open her eyes to rid them of stars. And met the stunned, flushed, stock-still figure of Emma Swan standing in front of a door she dimly heard click shut.

Emma’s mouth opened and closed repeatedly, without making a sound, like a fish gasping for air on dry land. Regina’s gaze riveted to that mouth. Unconsciously, she licked her lips.

The motion seemed to unstop Emma’s voice. It was hoarse, and stuttering. “Uh, yeah. No. I....should. I should. I should go. Yeah.”

She started to turn away, reaching for the door. Regina rolled, bone tired, onto her side.

“Don’t.” Her own voice was barely a whisper, hoarse, mouth dry. But the word stopped Emma mid-turn.

Green eyes turned back, seemed to take in the whole of Regina laying on the bunk. Slowly the hand dropped from the knob.

Regina lifted her head, steadily meeting Emma’s gaze, shrinking the space between them.

“Don’t go.”

Emma was breathing deeply, and the woman’s skin was still flushed and shiny with the sweat from her workout.

Primly, Regina sat up, pulled her legs from the bed, planting her feet firmly on the floor.

“No. Don’t. Don’t get up.” Emma circled, keeping distance between them, and moved to the lower bunk opposite Regina’s. Her gaze remained riveted to Regina’s. “I, uh, just came in to … I thought I could.” Emma looked at the bunk. “Lay you…” The blonde’s cheeks reddened. “Lay too,” she corrected quickly. “Down, I mean.”

Regina nodded. Hands out of her own underwear, she felt a remarkable centering come over her as she faced an even more flustered Emma Swan. “Stress,” she said, both explanation and question.

“Yeah. Yes,” Emma said, nodding vigorously. “You, uh, you too?” She had started to lay down, but when Regina didn’t immediately answer, Emma quickly resumed sitting. She hunched over her legs, her fingers interlacing and unlacing on her legs, grasping and ungrasping her knees.

Unused to being vulnerable with anyone, Regina could only nod.

Emma nodded back and Regina watched her throat swallow several times; the silence seemed to be the only thing they could manage and so each woman laid back onto her separate bunk, pretending not to notice the stolen glances between them.

Regina’s belly quivered; out of the corner of her eye, she saw Emma grasp her stomach at the same moment she did.

In that momentary silence, Regina recognized that she and Emma Swan were definitely in the same boat.

Literally. And figuratively. And she had absolutely no idea what to do about it.

###


End file.
